


Belong

by Amymel86



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dark Jon, F/M, Jealous Jon, Porn Without Plot, Smut, Sub Sansa, dom jon, possessive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 19:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9781469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: Sansa knows how to push Jon's buttons to get him how she likes him - possessive.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ok - so don't read if you're not into a dominant Jon and subby Sansa.
> 
> Trying something a bit different with the style of writing for this one - please let me know what you think!!

Jon is unaware as to what first triggered it - this burning need to take and claim, this pleasant rage that fuels his movements and words, but he knows that there's no going back now, not with how pliant she has become, how maliable and yielding.

She even goes as far as to encourage it, goading and daring him to become that wolf, that alpha, that covetous being. She uses the heat in his veins against him, smiling with and touching those men around her, those men who bow at their Queen's feet, encouraging them into her game - the unsuspecting pawns. With flirtatious laughter and whispers in ears she's pushing and pulling in the slightest - a nudge here, a tug there - it brings it out in him, she knows it does, knows he's watching in the shadows.

Sometimes she's even so bold as to grant him a knowing look and a lip bite as her friendliness warms some Lord so-and-so from that place or this. It's almost as if she enjoys watching him transform into the jealous beast that would claim her that night.

She makes a show of her leave, bidding all those with affectionate farewells for the evening - as if she'd truly miss them. He's of no need to tend to goodbyes, for who should miss the Queen's consort after all?

Sometimes she makes it to the warmth of her chambers, sometimes it's up against the rough bark of a tree, the scratch of hay in the stables, the cold bite of the snow on the ground or the graze of stone wall in a shadowy alcove.

"I know what you're doing".

"You do? Then please, enlighten me my Lord Husband".

"You want them to think they could have you...that the rumours of your cold marriage bed are true...that there are invitations to warm it".

She's full of smirking smiles, arched brows and devilish eyes.

"Oh? Is that what I was doing? That won't do now will it my love? Perhaps I had forgotten myself - perhaps I need reminding".

If her words weren't invitation enough, then the glint in her eye would have sufficed. Jon, who feels more beast than man in that moment is made up of grasping hands, teeth, tongue and growl.

"Aye, I think you have my Queen...let me reintroduce you to the truth of who you belong to".

This time he's pushing her into the rough stone of a wall, the cold of it only serving to emphasise the heat of his touch. They're near a doorway frequented by servants and maids, they should be quiet - but they won't.

"They want you, you know - all those pompous, self righteous Lords. What a surprise it must have been for them to witness you hand yourself over to a bastard" he spits with contempt "and you have, haven't you Sansa? Handed yourself over to me? You're mine" Jon snarls in her ear.

She makes a whining sound, not unlike Ghost when he desperately scratches at Jon's chamber doors, begging entry.

"I didn't hear you Sansa, tell me" he commands, one hand fisting the hair at the nape of her neck, grasping it like a wolf cub's scruff, tilting her head up, baring her creamy neck into submission.

"I'm yours" she whimpers, shuddering with anticipation below the flickering of the sconce.

"That's right sweetheart" he nips the column of her throat. "Mine".

There's a satisfied rumble somewhere deep with the cavern of Jon's chest when he feels Sansa shift and rub herself against his thigh - she likes him like this, revels at his words and takes pleasure from his roughness. Jon does not know why she enjoys it so, surprising as it is, considering how the other bastard had treated her.

Perhaps the Queen should like to submit her crown back to the realm in the same manner that she submits her cunt to Jon? Either way, outside this merry dance it is she that commands and rules and does the breaking, whereas with Jon she will bend.

"And what have you been doing to get your cunny so ready and wet for me wife"? He growls as his fingers lay claim to what they find beneath her skirts. She clamps her thighs together, trapping his scarred hand between their silky softness. "Ah ah ah, open your legs for me Sansa".

She throws him a challenge of a lazy grin.

"How can I claim what's mine if you don't? You want me to take you, don't you"?

His voice could almost be described as cooing if it weren't for the dangerous edge to it, the threat of wolf as his free hand wraps gently around her pretty neck. She nods blindly and parts her legs.

"Good girl".

Sansa bites her lower lip and shivers as if she has the chills - she is the Lady of Winterfell, Wardeness of the North and Queen of Winter but the title she enjoys the most is being Jon's 'Good Girl'.

"What do you want Sansa"?

Her breathing becomes rough and unrefined. "I want you to fuck me" she whispers "I want you to show me who I belong to".

"Untie my breeches".

There's a shared gasp and groan when Jon pushes inside her.

If at any point he breaks with his previous intent and behaviour during their liaison, it is now - as he pauses to plant tender presses of lips to her face and mouth before grasping the backs of her thighs to better bounce her up the wall.

"You're mine Sansa Stark, the whole of the North may think they own you my Queen but they're wrong. You... _unnghh_...belong to me.. _aaah_..don't...you"? he asks through gritted teeth as he thrusts within the tight circle of long milky legs locked behind his steady hips.

" _Mmm_ Yes Jon, I'm yours.... _aaah_...my kisses are yours...my smiles are yours.... _ooh_...my teats are yours...oh _fuck_....my...my...".

"Say it sweetheart".

"My cunt it yours"!

"Good... _uungh_....girl... _mmmnnhh_.."he grunts into her hair.

"No one else fucks you Sansa" he pants "no one else even touches what's mine ... _uungh_...if they do.... _aahhh_....I'll gut them where they stand... _fuck_..."

Her pretty moans and whimpers mingle in the hallway with his brutish grunts and groans as his pelvis picks up its tempo, slamming flesh into flesh at an animals pace.

" _Fuck Jon!...Yes!...Oh Gods YES"!_ Sansa's nails dig into his shoulders and his arms begin to ache from holding her against the wall but he's close to spilling and suspects her peak is on its way.

He hasn't said so before, but his primal thoughts tell him that spending his seed within her is just another, and yet the ultimate form of claiming her. He'll later smile at the notion of it.

After their cries of pleasure, after he replaces her feet to the stone flagged floors, after her skirts and his breeches are returned to their previous state - he'll follow her to her chambers with a sated smile upon his face, he'll undress her slowly because of the brush of lips he'll grant each newly bared expanse of skin. He'll take out her braid with nimbly careful fingers, he'll beckon her to join him in the copper tub of steaming water where he'll recognise a smattering of bruises beginning to form - some from his own hands, grasping and holding and some from the rough of the stone wall. He'll kiss them all away and she'll sigh out her contented noises.

"I love you Jon".

"I love you too, my Queen".

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Posted this one as a one shot separate from my ficlet collection because I'm desperate to see the number of Jon x Sansa fics reach the lofty heights of 2k!! ...and every little helps right?! ;-)


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